The messenger spoke curtly, as if delivering the message were an inconvenience rather than a duty of his apprenticeship with the scholars of Vhartic. 

"Your presence is requested in the council chamber," he said. He wasted no time, and was off again, as if by being in Kaevros's presence he would catch some disease. 

Perhaps I do have some sort of disease.

Kaevros struggled to explain the bad luck that had followed him of late. Nothing mundane was sufficient. What curse could he be afflicted with? And who would trouble themselves to lay it upon a scholar who had spent the greater part of his life devoted to the study of his homeland? What could he have done to draw the ire of whatever gods there may be?

A summons to the council chambers without notice was rarely a good thing. Maybe they had finally had enough of Kaevros's failures and were ready to expel him from the Order. 

Or maybe Eldric talked them into giving me another chance. 

Deep down, Kaevros knew that was unlikely. There had already been more than a few second chances afforded to him. It was Eldric—the man that practically raised Kaevros since he had become a scholar—that had earned him those chances. Eldric was one of the very few within the Order that still believed Kaevros could make something of himself, but even he was beginning to doubt.

The past several years had not been kind to Kaevros's studies. He had elected to specialize in one of the more prestigious fields of study the Vhartic Order of Scholars pursued: the study of Valdorin before Therric and his band of warrior companions landed on its eastern shores. They had encountered native peoples on the plains as they expanded westward, and their customs and cultures needed to be remembered. Therric had not come to conquer, nor sought to erase those ways. He decreed that scholars would preserve the histories of all the peoples of their new homeland—not only that of Therria.

This was particularly intriguing for Kaevros, not least because the true history of Therric and his companions before they sailed to Valdorin was now altogether unknown. There must be a land where they had come from, yet any record of it had been long forgotten or destroyed. A thousand years seemed at once too short a span to forget such knowledge, and too long preserve it accurately. This had become a fixation for Kaevros over the past decade or so. He believed there had to be something out there that explained where his people originally came from—and perhaps why they left, with no intention of returning.

Maybe I should give it up. 

Kaevros stood from his desk. There were old manuscripts of all sorts cluttered about—maps, journal entries, and recorded folklore littered the floor. Some documents Kaevros found particularly interesting were pinned to his walls. An outsider would find no order to them, but Kaevros knew exactly where every page belonged, and had nearly all of them committed to memory. The long lifespan of the Therrian people gave much time for learning, and Kaevros had spent more than half a century in his studies.

He closed the book he had been working in, and laid his quill pen atop it. For a moment, he looked around the room, wondering if this would be the last time he worked there—and if he would be able to keep any of his work if the master scholars expelled him today. Kaevros drew a slow breath, straightened his back, and turned for the door. 

This was not the first time Kaevros had been called before the council. Most scholars would go their entire lives without having to sit in front of them. Kaevros had done it no less than four times.

He walked the same route as he did every time: out his office door, down a short hallway, a staircase up, a longer hallway, more stairs, and he was there. The ornate wooden door was all that stood between him and whatever would come of his future. Something felt oddly final about this meeting. As if whatever was about to happen would decide more than just Kaevros's career. He raised a hand and knocked.

"Enter," said a gruff voice from within. Unfortunately, an all-too-familiar tone to Kaevros. 

Kaevros pushed the door open. The council chamber was unremarkable. Bookshelves filled with records and published investigation findings lined the walls and the scent of old parchment was a familiar comfort—even if it did little to settle his nerves. A large window overlooked a busy street below, its distant movement a sharp contrast to the stillness in the room.

The table itself was longer than necessary for the three Master Scholars who sat at it. Notes and reference books lay open before each of them, quills resting beside ink wells, ready to mark down anything deemed worthy of record. Kaevros doubted they would see much use today.

"How can I be of assistance?" he asked.

"We have not had much reason to think you can be of any assistance," said Ilyra Telys.

She had always been a skeptic. It served her well throughout her long career. As the Master Scholar of Methodology, she adhered rigidly to the procedures that governed the Order for over a millennium. Kaevros's habit of bending protocol in pursuit of unlikely breakthroughs had never sat well with her. Her curt tone stung Kaevros's ego more than he would care to admit.

"Madame Ilyra, please. His continued search for knowledge is a testament to his dedication to the Order," Vesryn Callovar replied. 

Vesryn was the senior member of the Review Council, and Chief Archivist for the Scholars. Approaching a hundred and fifty years in service to the Order, the man's knowledge bordered on encyclopedic. It was often said that he had forgotten more than most scholars would ever learn—but Kaevros doubted Vesryn had forgotten anything at all. He had a hand in nearly every record within the Order's vast libraries and could recite information from any book or scroll Kaevros had ever touched without error. 

"We have received some... interesting reports from the western territories," Eldric said, the third sitting member of the council finally speaking. "Livestock have been falling ill, exhibiting symptoms of a disease we have not encountered before. Crops are being affected as well—recent harvests have yielded noticeably less than in years past."

Eldric's presence was a comfort. Kaevros had more respect for him than any other Master Scholar in the Order. Eldric had always encouraged his efforts, though that encouragement seemed harder to offer of late. Kaevros knew there was pressure from Eldric's peers to let him fail on his own—to avoid tying a remarkable career to a scholar many had already written off. 

"So I am to go and investigate?" Kaevros blurted. His eagerness was difficult to hide. This could be his chance to restore himself in the eyes of the Master Scholars—finally do something meaningful.

He caught himself. He was likely not the council's first choice for this mission.

"My apologies," he added. "I did not mean to interrupt."

"In short, yes," Eldric said. "You will go to determine whether these reports hold any merit."

"You would do well to remember that you are not currently held in high regard within this Order," Ilyra added. "You are fortunate that Eldric still thinks of you fondly. His support carries enough weight to keep you around—for now."

The implication did not go unnoticed. Eldric was risking his own standing for Kaevros’ sake. He would not let him down. He would not waste this chance.

"When shall I depart?" Kaevros asked.

"Immediately. Your supplies are already being gathered" Ilyra said. Her tone confirmed what Kaevros already suspected. She couldn't wait to be rid of him. Perhaps she was hoping this would be the failure that finally removed him from the Order. "Your companions will be waiting at the western gate."

Companions? Handlers? Do they think me a child?

"Madame Ilyra, I assure you, I do not need—"

"It was not her decision to assign you an escort," Vesryn interrupted. "The western territories remain only partially settled. There are uncharted regions—particularly within the Daggers—where we cannot account for potential dangers. The soldiers will be there for your protection."

Soldiers? There had not been an investigation with an armed escort in decades.

Kaevros suspected this escort was meant less to protect him than to keep him in line. He imagined orders to return him to Vhartic at the first sign of failure, a convenient excuse for his expulsion. Then again, the western lands were largely wild. The new Therrian settlements in the forests surrounding the Daggers were not the only ones there. 

The Daggers had always intrigued Kaevros. Exploration of the mountain range had only just begun when Kaevros was a child, and much of it remained unknown. The mystery fascinated him. There would be opportunities for discovery there—perhaps even entire cultures yet to be catalogued. The thought stirred a familiar excitement within him.

"You will receive a small payment for incurred travel costs, but do not expect to be staying in lavish inns along the way," Vesryn said. "Should your investigation prove fruitful, you will be compensated proportionally upon your return."

It was not payment that drove Kaevros’ pursuit of knowledge. Coin meant little to him. What he wanted was to be remembered—to know that his name might endure, if only as a footnote in the histories he loved so dearly. His devotion to learning had always been sustained him. It had never made him wealthy, nor had he expected it to. 

"Understood, Master Vesryn."

"Gather whatever you may need for the journey," Eldric said. "It will take you a week to reach the western territories, so plan well." 

"You may go," Ilyra said,her tone carrying the same dismissal Kaevros had grown accustomed to.

So he did.

Kaevros gave a short bow to the council and turned for the door. This felt like a turning point. He couldn't wait to be on the road, with or without his unexpected company. At last, Kaevros believed his work would be remembered.